


The Adventure of the Undercover Detective and Blogger

by bookwormtsb



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwormtsb/pseuds/bookwormtsb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Lestrade texted me while you were out, there's been a set of vicious murders by the coast, couples being murdered, it's been going on for a while but they only just realised that there might be a link," he looked across at the shorter man, "he said that if I wanted to investigate, it would have to be undercover," </p>
<p>Sherlock Holmes considers himself a master of disguise, he's played a vicar with a bleeding face and many other roles. But, no matter how hard he tries, it's always a reflection of himself. Maybe that's why playing James Baker, the loving and romantic boyfriend to John Watson, also undercover with the alias of Hamish Wilkinson, is the hardest of them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventure of the Undercover Detective and Blogger

John, please pack a bag when you get home, Lestrade has asked us to go undercover as a couple. You'll need enough clothes for three/four days and I won't be awake when you come in. SH

Uh, excuse me? You didn't think to ASK me about this? Where the bloody hell are we going and why do we have to act as a couple? I'd like an explanation. Besides, I’m on a date. -JW

There have been a series of vicious murders, all couples, all found having been injected with a lethal substance. I phoned the surgery and they said that it was fine. And I wouldn’t hold out much hope for the girl you’re dating, she thinks you’re gay. -SH

Right. Set some ground rules, then. No sharing a bed. No kissing. No physical touching. And thanks for that, Sherlock. What exactly did you say when you phoned the surgery? -JW

And wait, she thinks I’m gay? What on Earth are you on about?!?!?! JW

I said that it was our anniversary and asked if it would be okay if you could take three days off for a romantic getaway. We'll need to touch and kiss if we're going to be a realistic couple, honestly John, stop protecting your heterosexuality so fiercely. SH

You said...what. Sherlock! You idiot! I was getting onto the receptionist! She now thinks I'm taken and gay. Bloody hell. Thanks, Sherlock. Thanks a lot. And no. I refuse to kiss you. -JW

I really don't see what your problem is, besides, you won't be kissing me, you'll be kissing my alias- Alexander Greene. Obviously there won't be any change in our relationship behind closed doors, it's just an act SH

Ugh, right. As long as we'll be far, far away from London where nobody knows us. And I suppose you've come up with an alias for me, have you? If it's rubbish, I'll actually kill you. -JW

Your name is William Baker, and we're going to Cornwall so there won't be anyone that you know, don't worry SH

William Baker. Sounds a bit boring, really. And yes, fine. Get a hotel room with two beds. That's all I ask. -JW

Do you even realise how suspicious that would seem? I've already booked a room with a double bed, I can sleep on the floor if I actually desire to sleep, that is SH

I don't actually care how gay it is that we'd be sharing a bed. We've done that before. You stole the covers in the middle of the night and I got quite pissed off with you. Remember? -JW

Not particularly, don't worry, I requested extra blankets. And you will have to kiss me at one point, stop being so picky, I've read about kissing and I'm sure that I'll be very good at it. SH

You can get a peck on the lips and that's it. No snogging whatsoever. Just a quick, two-second peck, right? -JW

John, we have to act accordingly, by that I mean going on dates and holding hands and yes, kissing. It's not a very big deal. Stop blowing things out of proportion. SH

I don't care about the holding hands and dates part. No-one in Wales will know us. The thing I don't want to do is snog my male best friend. It's a bit weird. -JW

It's not that strange, it would just be like kissing one of your various girlfriends, and judging by your lack of ability to remember their names, you seem to enjoy my company more than theirs anyway. SH

It'd be nothing like kissing them. For one, my girlfriends don't have stubble. It'd be really weird for me, Sherlock. -JW

I don't have stubble, I take care to be clean shaven almost constantly, stop making up excuses. I shall see you in the morning, make sure you have a bag and I'll pick you up in the car at 5am. SH

Well there's usually a pair of boobs pressing against my chest when I kiss any of my girlfriends. It's quite a drastic change. And yes, fine. I'll see you then. -JW

Sherlock dropped back onto his pillows and pulled the sheets up over his bare chest. He retreated to his mind palace in order to remember everything he knew about relationships, couples and John. 

The following morning, John had packed a rather large bag for the three days he was about to spend with Sherlock. He couldn't deny the fact that he was slightly terrified, but it had to be done. Hauling his bag down the staircase, he dropped it in the corridor then waited patiently.    
 I'm ready, if you fancy picking me up anytime soon. -JW

Sherlock raced down the stairs and burst out onto Baker Street, armed with his suitcase he rounded the corner onto the next street and walked for a few minutes until he reached the garages that belonged to the flats on Baker Street. Fishing in the pocket of his ridiculously tight jeans he pulled out his car keys and opened the remote controlled garage door. Sherlock doubted whether John even knew that they had a garage never mind the fact that Sherlock had a car, it was a lovely Audi TT, silver with a twin exhaust and rarely used except for cases when it was necessary. He dumped his bag in the boot and started the car, driving round the corner to Baker Street and peeping his horn outside 221. Sherlock lazily waved an arm through the window, hoping that John wouldn't mention the new look he'd adopted for a role, Sherlock had removed his contacts and had put on his Ray-bans alongside a tight t-shirt and skinny jeans with a pair of brogues and a grey cardigan, his black boxers noticeable over the waist line of his jeans. "John, hurry up!"

Upon hearing his flatmate's voice, John hauled his suitcase through the door and neared the car, instantly shoving his suitcase into the trunk of the car. When he climbed into the passenger seat, his eyes widened almost instantly at Sherlock's appearance. "What the hell are you wearing? You look like a bloody teenager!"

"Shut up," Sherlock scowled as he pulled away from the kerb, his eyes fixed on the road, "I don't look like a teenager,"

John folded his arms across his chest, his eyes fixed on Sherlock as he studied him, eventually breaking into a laugh. "You do! You look about 19. It's quite amusing. I might take some pictures and show them Greg."

"Don't you dare," Sherlock hissed, a blush spreading across his cheeks as John took a picture, "I got you some new clothes, you cannot wear those awful jumpers of yours all weekend,"

John simply scowled, glancing downwards to his jumper. "There's nothing wrong with my jumpers! If you've got me some...horrible teenager clothes, I refuse to wear them. Now shut up and drive. I want to sleep."

"I haven't got you teenager clothes," Sherlock huffed before glancing at John, "did you send that to Lestrade?"

John closed his eyes, his head facing the window as he released a huff. "Yep. Yes, I did."

"I will take my revenge," Sherlock growled before shutting up to allow John to sleep.

John woke up about an hour later and the question that he’d forgotten to ask popped back into his head, “where did you get the car?” 

Sherlock didn’t reply and kept his eyes focused on the still dark road. 

"Did you rent it?" he asked, looking around in amazement. It was a really nice car.  
"Nope all mine," he rolled his eyes and shushed John with an impatient waggle of his fingers, "weren’t you asleep?"  
John ignored Sherlock’s question and continued with the onslaught of his own questions, “since when do you own a car? And where do you keep it?" John asked, frowning. He had never even seen this car!  
"We have a garage round the back," Sherlock drawled, pulling away from the kerb and driving along Baker Street, his eyes fixed on the road.  
"What the... Since when?" Nobody had ever told John about any garage.  
"I believe the garages were built in the Victorian era but I sense you're asking more about the car, I bought it a couple of years after Uni,"  
"Oh." Was all John could think of to say. But hey, it was 5:30 in the morning, and he'd just woken up. Going back to sleep seemed like a wonderful idea. The only thing holding him back was the knowledge that his nightmares started to act up while sleeping in moving vehicles. John relaxed into the seat, but not enough to fall asleep, he hoped.  
Sherlock turned a corner, "I thought it might help me get around, I was a lawyer back then, you know,"  
"You used to be a lawyer?" John asked, not convinced. He couldn't see Sherlock being anything other than a consulting detective. Being a lawyer seemed too... mundane for him.  
"Yeah, " Sherlock grinned, "pretty good at it too, at that point I had short hair and wore a tie, that was before the money kind of got to me, I lived in this massive penthouse in Kensingston with two guys from Uni,"  
John stared at Sherlock in amazement, awed by the new discovery. "And you liked it? Being a lawyer I mean? Why'd you stop?"  
"I loved it," he smiled, "I only took the really weird cases, it was great, but then you know how it is, I was about 26 at the time and I had a flash car and girls who wanted to sleep with me and I was the cleverest bloke around, I started on cocaine and it all kind of went downhill from there,"  
John stared across at Sherlock in surprise, it was strange for Sherlock to talk about his past or personal matters, he guessed that it was just because he was excited about the new case, “how bad did it get?” John asked quietly, he’d always heard little hints about Sherlock’s drug abuse but it had never come up fully between the two of them.  
“Bad, I was entirely reliant on it for any kind of happiness,” he chewed on the inside of his mouth, “I was going to kill myself when Lestrade burst in, drugs bust, he found me lying there in tears with the barrel of a gun in my mouth,” John blinked nervously, he’d known that Sherlock had gotten pretty bad at one point, but he’d never known the true extent.  
“And after that?”  
“I didn’t shoot myself, well not in the head, I was unbelievably high at the time and went a bit crazy, ended up shooting myself in the stomach, missed all the vital organs and was fine after a few months recovering. I got fired from my job and decided to move out of the apartment. They pumped my stomach, stitched me up and I got a slap on the wrist from some policemen but only because Mycroft managed to pull some strings. I ended up living with Lestrade, he’d make sure that I was clean twice a week and I’d help him with the cases that he brought home,” Sherlock exhaled sharply, he’d never intended on telling John any of that, the past was the past and he wanted it to stay that way. It was odd, it seemed as though showing John the car was a catalyst to telling him everything about his past.  
“That’s terrible,” John mumbled, turning his attention away from Sherlock and to the dark streets of London, the sun was already beginning to rise and the streets were getting busier.  
“Yeah,” Sherlock agreed, “look in my wallet, there’s a picture right at the very back of Lestrade and me one summer,” John tilted his head in confusion and reached for Sherlock’s black wallet. He tried to stop his eyes from widening to the size of saucers as he took in the thick wad of fifty pound notes and the number of debit cards.  
John pulled out a very crumpled Polaroid, on the right, there was Greg with untidy brown hair, wearing a button down shirt and jeans and next to him, a barely recognisable Sherlock, his hair was shorter and tidy, it looked like a very dark brown in the sunlight and stood up slightly on top with closely cut sides. He was wearing his purple shirt, which fitted him much more loosely, over a white t-shirt and there was a flash of light around his neck as though he was wearing a silver necklace, his jeans were impossibly skinny and he looked like a teenager posing awkwardly with his older brother.  
“Wow,” John’s mouth fell open in shock as he studied the photo, “how old are you in this picture?”  
Sherlock glanced down, his eyes slightly sad, “I don’t know, either 28 or 29,” he smiled, “Lestrade’s fiancee had taken it, we were out on an undercover case and she thought we looked ‘adorable.’”  
John smiled, “did you like living with Greg?” Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.  
“It was good of him to put up with me, he didn’t really mind, I could tell but his fiancee hated me, she said that I was tearing their relationship apart, nearly threw me out when I pointed out that her sleeping with their accountant was playing a larger role in the break down of their relationship than my presence,” Sherlock sniggered, turning onto the M25.  
“When did you move out?” John asked as he played with the photograph, he couldn’t really believe how different Sherlock looked now, it was unsettling.  
“When I was 29, I lived by myself in a flat near St. Barts for a good few years and then the people that lived below me started growing marijuana and I really didn’t want to be involved in anything you could call recreational ever again,” he looked across at John and switched lanes, “that’s when I moved in with you.”  
John settled back in his seat, his mind turning over all the things that Sherlock had told him, it seemed so strange that he’d had a career, a life and friends before becoming a consulting detective. After a while he stopped thinking about Sherlock’s past and fell asleep again.  
When John awoke, Sherlock's vehicle was now parked outside some intensely posh-looking hotel. Releasing a yawn, John turned his head, looking at his flatmate with an arched brow. "Here? Really?"

"It's where all the murdered couples were staying," Sherlock muttered and pushed his glasses up on his nose slightly.

"Brilliant," he grumbled, sliding further down in his seat as he unclipped his seatbelt. "Why on Earth are you wearing those glasses?"

"I'm severely short-sighted," Sherlock sighed as he reached for his phone which was buzzing impatiently in his pocket. Lestrade.

John's brows arched, his gaze fixed on Sherlock as he simply yanked the glasses from his face then placed them on his own. "Jesus, you are! Blind as a bat."

"Give them back," Sherlock complained, "I can't see!"

With a chuckle, he placed them back into Sherlock's grasp then climbed from the car, kicking the door closed behind him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and checked his phone. Lestrade: Jesus Christ Sherlock! Have you slipped into a time vortex? You look about 17! LOL!

"Come on, Sherlock," he shouted, tapping loudly on his window. "I want to check out the room!" he hissed, moving to haul both bags from the trunk of the car.

"What are you talking about William?" Sherlock asked as he climbed out of the car, slipping into his role, his face open and smiling. He took his own bag before grabbing John's hand and locking the car behind him.

John fell silent for a moment, simply staring at their joined hands in shock. Clearing his throat, John set his lips into a thin line, attempting to pry his hand away. "I need to carry my bag, darling." The stress that John had put on the word ‘darling’ sounded vaguely murderous. 

"Fine sweetie," Sherlock grinned as he led John into the hotel and approached the reception, tugging lightly on John's jumper, "hi," he smiled at the receptionist, "we have a room booked under Greene?"

John grasped tightly onto his bag, following Sherlock closely into the large hotel. It took all of his will power to not flirt with the incredibly attractive receptionist. It wasn't the time. "It's our anniversary," he spoke with a laugh, finding himself very close to screaming and running from the hotel.

Sherlock smiled and wrapped his arm around John's waist, squeezing their bodies together. The receptionist smiled at them before sliding a key across the desk, "that's lovely, I hope you enjoy your stay, one of our bellboys will show you to your room!"

John froze, forcing a smile to his lip as he discreetly attempted to pry Sherlock's arm from around him. "Right, lovely. Thank you!" he beamed, eyeing the receptionist before giving Sherlock a firm tug away from the desk. "Watch where you're putting that bloody hand of yours."

Sherlock just smirked as the bellboy took both of their bags and led them up the stairs, "I love you too,"

"Piss off," he whispered, simply following the bellboy up the staircase and down the corridor towards their room.

Sherlock tried to control his laughter as they walked along their corridor and stopped outside a door which the bellboy opened to reveal the honeymoon suite.

Once John caught sight of the room, he quickly tipped the bellboy then swiftly dragged Sherlock inside, kicking the door closed. "The honeymoon suite? Really?"

"I didn't have anything to do with this-" he stopped and stamped his foot, "Mycroft, I should have known," he pulled out his phone and twisted away from John to phone Mycroft.

John scoffed, crossing the room and collapsing back onto the large bed. "No, it's fine. Scratch that. The bed is quite lovely. You can sleep on the floor."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stared out the window, "should we go out for dinner?"

"There's a restaurant in the hotel. Seems quite posh. If you try and kiss me, I'll kick you in the crotch. Understood?" he pushed himself up onto his elbows, eyeing his friend.

"Fine," Sherlock hissed and checked his watch, "we should get dressed and go down there fairly quickly,"


End file.
